They Call Her Maze

<Chapter 12>

~Maze's P.O.V.~

Of the hundreds of photos making its own kind of wallpaper all over the one room of me, my Dad and i, me, me, and more me, the only one's that remained were the one's of my Dad and i.

At the least there are about 60 of them.

Unbelievably they all remained un-touched immensely by the alcohol flame that was around them.

I have spent the last 50 or so minutes mapping out all of the photos all over the metal floor of the room Conin and i share.

Now that i look at it, being almost done, it looks like one, giant, sideways family tree diagram.

Youngest years (on my left) to the last few (to my right) i was able to spend with my Father.

Placed in the order of how i remember them happening within the years.

55 going on 56 minutes i have sat on this floor creating my 'Tree'. In nothing but my bra and underwear with the jacket Rori let me borrow so she could sometime sew my/Trenton's teal shirt of the rip in the shoulder Conin made.

Piecing the first 13 years of my life together, is not as easy as you would think, but not as hard either.

I'm really sure how to put it.

I gave my 'Tree' a once over, after i laid down the 2nd to last picture in it's proper place to the right end of the pictures, and nodded to myself, because it looks just Right.

After i placed the picture, and straightened a few, made sure the corners were over lapping just enough, yada yada, i sat back against the bed, with my Indian crossed legs, i wrapped my hands around my ankles, and breathed a sigh.

I stared at it for a few seconds more, knowing i was missing One thing.

Then it hit me.

The photo where it all began.

Where it was all centered on.

I slowly pulled out the last photo from my jacket pocket.-The first picture that was ever taken of me and my Father.

My Father is young, handsome, fresh, 18 year-old Marine, with not even a strand of grey present in his vibrant, Auburn hair. His build, just the same as i remember, strong, muscular, and only did he get stronger with age. And his eyes, as blue as can be, from what little bit of them i can see. No dark, slightly saggy under eyes, just ever Perfect.

I always hoped and imagined that i would see Daddy as Alive as he is in this photo.

The way he holds little 'ole newborn me, is so gentle and soft with such care.

Someone who looks as my Father does, and talks as he did around the few people we made contact with that i remember, you wouldn't think he could be so Gentle and so scared he wouldn't be careful enough.

But he was.

The description i give my newborn self so protectively in Daddy's arms,

Very tiny, big-eyed, chubby-cheeked, with little sausage fingers, and baby cankles-the cankles i'm guessing on, i am wrapped in a yellow blanket. For a newborn though i had quite the head of hair.

Peeking out from the little, yellow, white, and blue snowball Beanie, was small curls of Bronze.

Classic me.

Always had the Bronze hair, and a Lot of it.

The breathtakingly Beautiful, curly blond haired, green-eyed woman peering over my Dad's shoulder, with a line of freckles just under her eyes, with peach lips, and light tan completion i WILL ABOSLUTELY NOT believe it.